his proposal for what it was: a mutually beneficial business arrangement. Quid pro quo.
“So, do you have any questions?” she asked politely. Her smile was back in place and just this side of hopeful.
Did he ever, and it was a doozy, but the one Thomas went with was: “Does anyone ever call you Beth?”
CHAPTER TWO
ELIZABETH felt her mouth fall open. Of all the questions she’d anticipated Thomas Waverly asking, that one wasn’t among them. Inquiries about her business or her background? Certainly. Her nickname? Not so much. But since it would be rude to question his questioning—almost as rude as calling on him at his office without an actual appointment—she did her best to wipe away her surprise and answered him honestly.
“No one’s ever called me Beth.”
Lizzie sometimes, since that had been her actual name. She’d changed it legally once she reached adulthood. She liked the formality of Elizabeth, the utter timelessness of it, not to mention the respect that it seemed to engender. Queens and Hollywood legends were named Elizabeth. Lizzie? Put the word tin before it and it referred to a jalopy.
He inhaled deeply, as if preparing to make an earthshaking announcement. But all he said was, “You look like a Beth.”
“Perhaps you have me confused with someone else,” she suggested, unsure what else to say.
The conversation had taken an odd and definitely awkward turn, and, even though she hardly could claim to be an expert on men, the speculation brewing in this particular man’s gaze was unnerving. Okay, it also was a bit flattering. Men as gorgeous and accomplished as Thomas Waverly rarely gave Elizabeth the time of day—whether or not she’d made an appointment. They certainly didn’t look at her like he was looking at her—as if he were interested in something more personal than making a charitable donation.
“Perhaps,” he said with a nod before glancing away.
It sounded as if he muttered the word crazy half under his breath. If so, the description fit the situation, she decided. More likely, though, she was just imagining things or blowing them out of proportion. It was best to leave before she said something foolish, especially since he seemed interested in her cause.
Elizabeth started to rise. “I’d better be going. Thank you again for your time.” She nibbled her bottom lip before adding, “I hope we will be able to count Waverly Enterprises among our contributors.”
He pulled her business card from the folder she’d given him and held it up. “I’ll be in touch with you. I promise.”
“Terrific.” She should have been relieved, happy. Why, Elizabeth wondered, did she feel apprehensive? No, what she was feeling wasn’t apprehension, but anticipation, an almost foreign sensation where a man was concerned. But then, Thomas Waverly wasn’t a man; he was a potential donor with pockets deep enough to push her cause much closer to its goal.
Just as she made that determination, he rose from his seat—a little more than six feet worth of perfectly formed and proportioned male. The custom cut of his suit showcased a pair of broad shoulders and a body made up of lean muscle rather than the kind of soft bulk found on a lot of the desk-bound CEOs she’d called on. Not a man? Those words, unuttered though they’d been, taunted her. Oh, he was a man, all right. And every last inch of him was steeped in testosterone.
The satchel slipped from Elizabeth’s hand and landed on the carpeted floor with a thud. Her fingers had gone as slack as her mouth. She snapped her lips closed as he came around his desk. He was bending to retrieve her case even before she managed to move. And here she’d been hoping to make her exit before she could make herself look foolish.
“This thing is pretty heavy.” His smile, thank goodness, wasn’t awash in amusement.
“Thank you.”
Their fingers brushed in the handoff, and she experienced an unprecedented urge to sigh. Oh, it was definitely time to go. During the past month, she had managed to wrest precious little in the way of donations from the local business community, not sizable ones at any rate. Money continued to trickle in—a little here, a little there—but the well of largesse appeared to have run dry. Literacy Liaisons’s endowment fund campaign not only needed Waverly Enterprises’s support, but it was also desperate for it.
So, without further hesitation, Elizabeth beat a retreat, mentally kicking herself all the way home.
Howie greeted her at the front door of her small bungalow with an enthusiastic kiss after nearly knocking her off her feet. Whether she was gone an hour or all day, her golden retriever-slash-Labrador-slash-a-few-other-kinds-of-canine was always happy to see her.
Ecstatic, in fact. If only every door she opened held such adoration on the other side, her life and her job would be just that much more enjoyable.
“I missed you, too, boy.”
She removed his big paws from her chest and stooped to pick up the scattering of envelopes that had been pushed through the door’s mail slot.
Bill, bill, bill, junk, junk and a reminder that one of her magazine subscriptions was about to run out. The internet made communicating with friends, loved ones and business associates quick and easy, but Elizabeth missed receiving actual letters, even if the only person she really hoped to hear from was the one person who would never write. A person who couldn’t write. Or read.
Her brother. She hadn’t seen him in more than a decade, though he occasionally called their parents. For all intents and purposes, though, Ross had disappeared.
Howie’s whining pulled her from the past, reminding her that he needed to go outside and do his business.
When she opened the door, the dog was out in a flash, a bullet of peaches-and-cream-colored fur that pulled up short just before the sidewalk. Elizabeth had installed an electronic fence to keep him within the boundaries of the yard. As she watched him take off after a squirrel in what had become a ritual game of chase, her cell phone rang.
She retrieved it from her satchel. “Hello?”
“Miss Morris?” The deep voice was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.
“Yes.”
“It’s Thomas Waverly.”
This was a surprise, so much so that the cell phone nearly fell to the floor, much as her bag had in his office. She bobbled it before managing to return it to her ear. The man had a way of making her uncharacteristically clumsy.
“Are you there?” he was asking.
“Yes, sorry. I just wasn’t expecting to hear from you.” She gave her forehead a slap. “So soon that is.”
Cool, collected and confident—that was what she needed to be. Unfortunately, she sounded flustered and slightly breathless—reactions that someone as handsome as Thomas Waverly probably experienced on a regular basis when it came to women.
He was saying, “I was wondering if we could meet to discuss … a donation.”
Had she imagined that slight hesitation? Well, no matter. She would clear her calendar if need be to accommodate someone interested
